


Nobody Watches Watcher like Slayer

by I_Have_No_Clue



Series: Types [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mycroft, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Blow Job, M/M, Masturbation, More Plot then the others, Omega John, Omega Lestrade, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Have_No_Clue/pseuds/I_Have_No_Clue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory Lestrade has a whole lot of control for a Slayer Omega. And it's a good thing too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Watches Watcher like Slayer

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock, i have no Beta Reader or Brit Picker. I have nothing but pennies to my name.  
> Okay, this is my first time writing for Mycroft/Greg. Tell me how I did?
> 
> Warning!  
> Violence!  
> And all the other things mentioned in the tags.  
> If I should warn for anything else, please say so.

One of the most horrifying and startling facts about murders is that 47% of the time it’s an Omega who did the crime. The other 53% is split rather evenly between Alphas and Betas.

Now, when you tell this fact to most people, they’ll either think you’re having them on or you got your statistics wrong. After all, isn’t it Alpha’s who mostly do the killing?

Here’s the fact for that; about half of an Omega’s kills happen out of self-defense, usually to prevent themselves from being killed, raped, or keeping their children safe.

Now, for those who hear this and still think that Omegas don’t have it in them… Go try and harass a Slayer Omega Type, see where that gets you.

Gregory Lestrade had worked hard for everything he got. He had good grades in school, been a library, as well as an Office aid, and had even graduated the Academy with top scores, academically and physically.

And yet when he had got his dream job, he was put on the lowest rung of the latter as a gopher. Get this, get that, more coffee, run for donuts, file this paperwork.

It took him six years to even become a Sergeant. All because of his type.

Slayer.

Sure, on paper it makes sense why this was done. They had to make sure he had the control to be in a high stress environment as the police force, make sure he wouldn’t kill anyone who pissed him off, or get himself sued for punching important people who were awfully annoying. Slayers were after all the Omega equitant to the Alpha Berserker. Who knew what would happen if he lost control?

But when your future coworkers go out of their way to make your life miserable, knowing you couldn’t do a thing about it if you didn’t want to lose your job, it really makes one realize just how much prejudice thrives in the world.

In most peoples minds, Slayers are the antithesis of the perfect Omega; they hate following orders, are extremely violent, and are really expressive when it comes to what they want. This thought usually makes it hard for one to find a trusted Bonded, as most Alphas and Betas get with this type just to say they managed to tame a Slayer in bed and such rot.

Greg almost fell for it himself, if he hadn’t heard his fiancée chatting happily on the phone on how she would soon have the mighty Slayer whipped and hers to fuck.

It felt particularly good peacefully evicting her from his apartment, smiling as she made a fool out of herself yelling obscenities at him.

But with no future Alpha wife to please, he was fully able to concentrate on his work, getting to the desired Detective Inspector title he dreamed of.

Of course, it took a ton of nicotine patches and one annoying Guardian Alpha to do so.

(An Alpha who drove him crazy and tried his patience, made him question everything he knew, contemplate homicide, and was a good friend… Despite the punch to the face the Omega gave him the first time they met.)

But it wasn’t that Alpha Greg was thinking about at the moment.

No, it was _The Brother_. The Watcher Alpha.

Who Greg was still trying to figure out.

Ever since they had first met when said Watcher went to pick up his addict of a relative, Greg had to admit he was curious about the bloke who had the government on his heels like a puppy.

And who he went out on regular ‘dinner meetings’ with. Most would call them dates, but nothing was simple with Mycroft Holmes.

No, these dinner meetings had come about when the bastard had decided to kidnap him for a regular meeting just when he had gotten his take-out he ordered. No way in hell was he going to leave good food lying around.

So he took it with him and ate as Holmes ‘questioned’ him.

The look on the Nobleman’s face when he saw what he was eating was worth the whole kidnapping. Really, nothing was more amusing seeing how the Alpha’s nose would wrinkle when the Omega would spear a greasy Chinese noodle and a bit of mushroom, then eat it with great relish.  
The man probably never had fast food in his life. Just meant more for him.

But ever since, as if to make a point, if Holmes needed to kidnap him around dinner, he would take him to five star restaurants, ordering food Greg could never hope to pronounce. He didn’t even dare look at the menu, which he was sure was worth more then his paycheck. Really, who would put that much gold on pieces of paper?

It was also over these ‘dinner meetings’ that Holmes had somehow become Mycroft and he had gone from Sergeant, Inspector, to Gregory.

Then their were the ‘slips’.

A concerned look directed at him when he got little sleep, a kind word (Mycroft style), and the lingering handshakes and touches to his back and shoulder. Honestly, if Greg didn’t know any better, he would say Mycroft was flirting. If it wasn’t for the damn conflicting signals the man sent by being an iceberg afterwards.

It was getting annoying. (And if his heart felt slightly crushed after each cold brush off, then it was probably just stress and the fancy food giving him indigestion.)

But as distracting as thinking about the “minor government official” was, it wasn’t distracting enough to make him forget where he was and what the situation was like.

He was kidnapped, along with John, Sherlock, and Mycroft.

Now wasn’t that a turn up?

As usual, Greg had no clue how the bloody hell he ended up in this situation, Sherlock was figuring things out, John was looking just as clueless as he was, and Mycroft was calm, though a little irritated, as if the situation was just a minor inconvenience. Though for him, who probably had his own rescue team already sent out, it probably was. Watchers watch, not get involved.

To the extent of his knowledge about the situation, he knew it had something to do with the recent rash of robberies of high priced jewels, that both Sherlock and Mycroft had somehow pissed off the perpetrator, and that the un-sub was ‘going to make them pay’.

A little routine, but you had to give them points on actually managing to get Mycroft.

“So, any plans of escape at the moment from the captured geniuses? Cause I for one don’t want to be here when they come back.” Greg asked, looking between said two.

Sherlock scoffed, “Don’t worry Lestrade, they have no interest in you or John; you’re both the wrong sex gender and Type, as the culprit prefers female Omegas, mostly Serfs or Harems. How Unoriginal.” Greg still to this day wondered why Sherlock hated Serfs; they must have done something for there to be that much disgust in his tone.

“As you and John are a Guard and Assistant respectfully, you two have no worries about attracting any negative attention.” Sherlock concluded, then went back to pacing.

“Thanks, knowing I don’t have to add a sexual assault charge to the murder and robbery the guy has already makes me feel loads better.” Greg said wryly, not showing how Sherlock’s words did sooth him, as well as hiding his amusement about the Guard comment.

This was something else that amused Greg to no end. Apparently, most assumed he was a Guard Omega, due to his patience and secretive nature. Then there was also the fact he was so high up on the food chain in Scotland Yard, soon people thought he wasn’t a Slayer, but a Guard with an anger problem. He never bothered to correct this, as it made his job so much easier, but the fact that both Sherlock and Mycroft thought he was a Guard was hilarious. He was still waiting for the two to figure it out. Though he was pretty sure John knew as well, if judging by his amused glance whenever someone called him a Guard, as was as enjoying the waiting game just as much as Greg.

It was so rare to pull one over a Holmes, much less two. He was enjoying it while it lasted.

“This is highly inconvenient; I was rather booked with quiet a few meetings today. I’ll have to have talk with the head of security about this large oversight.” Greg blinked when he heard Mycroft huff, looking over to see a rather annoyed Watcher with his eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching. Probably missing his umbrella, the perp took it from him along with the rest of their things. It was rather strange seeing the man without it.

About to make a comment that would hopefully calm him down, Greg felt his head snap up when he heard a whimper, smelling fear hormones coming off John. Making sure to back away, the Slayer watched as Sherlock was by his Bonded’s side, as if he never left it to pace around the room.

“They drugged us! Probably sedatives.” Sherlock practically snarled, though it came out as a mumble.

“Bloody fuck.” Greg said aloud, though for different reasons then the others expected.

Looking over at Mycroft, he saw that while the man’s body was relaxed, his eyes were bright with anger.

Soon, Greg noticed how even the consulting detective stayed still, his body relaxed and sluggish as his eyes remained alert, the same with John who looked a little panicked. Drugging an Army Solider with PTSD with a paralyzing drug was definably now a good idea for the doctor’s state of mind. Sherlock didn’t seem happy with it either, even with his Alpha biology and former drug history slowing the drug in his system.

Before Greg, who was staying still, could look over at Mycroft, the door opened, showing the thief he was after. Something about the look in his eyes made Greg want to punch him in the gut.

“We have a bit more time together before I need to leave for the airport; how about we have some good old fashion fun before I go? A little something to remember me by.” The criminal said, licking his lips.

Greg did not like the look of him before.

He especially didn’t like the look the man was now giving John. Forget punching, he wanted his gun or a knife.

Now, here is a few little fun facts about Slayers:

1) In old times, the Slayers were considered the last defense between the weaker Omegas, their children, and their enemies.

2) The reason for this is because they were immune to the incense that would be burned to calm the Omegas, make them pliant as they stole them and murdered their Alpha and Male Beta children right before their eyes.

3) These instincts to protect other Omegas and Children still carry on today, especially if they’re friends and comrades.

4) They also carry the immunity over to being immune to sedatives.

5) The only side-effect sedatives have is that it pisses them off.

Add points 3-5 together and you get a pissed off, protective, homicidal Slayer on your ass.

Greg really couldn’t deny how good it felt to let lose on the bastard who threatened one of his best mates. Then again, he wasn’t exactly in his right mind at the moment, so his bloody glee was probably a side effect of the sedatives. Or the fact he hadn’t let lose in years. Maybe instincts?

Still felt damn good.

When Mycroft’s rescue team came, they found a manically grinning Detective Inspector sitting on the criminal‘s back, his shoe clad foot resting on said man’s head. They proceeded very carefully under those watchful eyes, the smile twitching when they moved to fast or he could see what they were doing. One wrong mood, and not much would help them when a policed trained, pissed off Slayer drugged to being in a even more dangerous state was on them and not the criminal.

It was a smart move to send John to him, when he was finally clean and able to think clearly.

“Well, this is one way to out yourself. To bad we couldn’t enjoy it fully.” John said tiredly, his hand coming to rest on his best friend’s shoulder.

Greg chuckled, still a bit high on his anger, but calmer now that he knew his fellow Omega was safe, “Well, at least I got to let go for a bit.”

That immediately got a frown from John, which made him sigh. Here we go.

“You really should stop bottling it all up. I mean, I can understand if you only did it at work, but you take it 24/7. That is not healthy Greg, and you know it.” John said, the doctor in him showing.

“Can we not have this discussion while I am sitting on the guy who was planning to harm you? I might get a bit annoyed and accidentally kill him.” the Slayer said, glad that he could dodge the argument.

And while John was correct, it didn’t really help. While Greg didn’t keep it in all the time like John thought, he did keep it in longer then most Slayers were comfortable with. When he was on the job, he needed all the control he could get; having a regular let off schedule might seem smart, but with being in the police, where he could get a call anytime, it just wasn’t practical. So Greg would only let off when he was on vacation, which was always out of London. Training for his mind to know he couldn’t let off on the job or in his territory unless absolutely necessary.

John gave him a bit of a glare, then sighed, giving him his hand so that Slayer could get a lift up. He took a bit of enjoyment of stepping on the perps fingers

while doing so, getting a groan of pain out of it.

Walking out of the building and meeting up with Sherlock and Mycroft in the fancy black limos was a bit of a relief. His instincts were a bit stronger at the moment and being crowded by so many people he didn’t know was not a good idea at the time. It was lucky he had a target for his anger and that John was at least back to about 80% of good health.

“You’re a Slayer.”

Looking over, Lestrade eyed Sherlock, who was scowling at him, looking rather irritated.

“You were the one to assume I was a Guard. I figured you would get it eventually.” Greg said with a smirk, enjoying every minute of this.

“I assume you keep your Type secret from everyone? Otherwise Anderson wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable around you as he is; Slayers terrify the man after all, probably due to one finding out he wasn’t faithful to them when they were dating.” Sherlock said, his voice taking that disgusted/annoyed tone it always did when he talked about anything that dealt with the Provider Beta.

“It’s no secrete, those who have to know already know. I’m not even hiding my status; I just know how to keep my mouth shut.” the Slayer said with a shrug.

“You have an alarming amount of control for a Slayer.” was stated by Mycroft, his eyes burning into Greg with a rather fierce glint. It made him feel like pouncing and claiming.

Before he could answer that, he was cut off.

“Oh, for the sake of science and intelligent thought, stop dancing around him due to your damn insecurities, and just claim him already. Your emotions to him are reciprocated.” was announced by a long-suffering Sherlock, who now looked not only disgusted, but also irritated and an emotion that Greg couldn’t name because he never seen it on Sherlock before.

But taking in Sherlock’s words, he at first thought the Guardian was talking to him, before he saw that the detective’s gaze was focused on his brother.

Who actually looked a bit flushed.

The car ride was quiet all the way up to dropping off the detective and his doctor, who gave Greg an encouraging look.

After they were alone for a minute, Greg looked at Mycroft, his eyes hardening.

“Do you have an interest in me?”

“Define interest.”

“Do you want to fuck me?” the Inspector asked, his patience long since been snapped and broken.

“…The thought has crossed my mind once or twice.” was actually said a little hesitantly. Was the ‘British Government’ nervous?

The grey haired man gave the brown haired one a long look, before, “Would you like simple dinners, just conversation, and be happy with just that?”

“Yes.” was said with no hesitation, no trace of nervousness from his early question. Huh.

“…Would you be good with watching old movies or watching a football game?” Greg said, developing a theory.

“I would find that agreeable.” Mycroft actually sounded slightly wistful at that.

Now to see if he hit the mark.

“And if I were to start wanking here in the car, would you enjoy watching?” Greg allowed his voice to go husky, his eye were half-lidded as he toyed with the button on his trousers.

Mycroft actually choked, his eyes wide with lust as the trailed down the policeman’s body to rest on the mention hand. He looked ravenous, licking his lips.

Bingo.

It made so much sense now.

As a Watcher, they really did not like getting involved. Known far and wide as “The Audience of the World”, they much preferred to observe, wait, and examine things instead of getting in on the action. Most would say they were unfeeling bastards, but there was a real reason for this.

Watchers had eyes like hawks, able to analyze and record everything they see. They also have a chance to develop synesthesia due to the way their minds work. In fact, 3/7 Watchers usually get said neurological phenomenon. And while their minds are great, sadly their bodies are not. In fact, a Watcher’s body is rather sensitive and not as physically strong as other Alpha’s. It is actually rather easy to overpower a Watcher, as their sensitivity makes it to where they do not handle pain well.

The same goes with pleasure.

Teasingly, Greg smirks as he unbuttons himself, then ever so slowly, pulls his fly down, enjoying the starved look on the usually composed Alpha’s face.

Pushing both his pants and trousers down in one go till they hang around the middle of his thigh, he takes a look at himself. He’s got a well sized prick, if he does say so himself, for an Omega, half-hard as he is.

Getting some spit on his hand to at least ease the way, he takes his cock in hand, then looks straight into Mycroft’s eyes, who looks so rumpled, and starts.  
He wants to make this last, so he takes it slow, does the things he likes, enjoying the teasing he gives himself. It really doesn’t take long for his half-interested cock to get fully into it, but it is so enjoyable watching Mycroft.

The Watcher twitches at every stroke, gulps at every smirk sent his way, and actually gives a growl in answer to everyone of the Slayer’s whines. It’s nearly too much, knowing the man before him has all his senses focused on him, but he keeps going slow, wanting to savor this experience.

“Can I touch you Gregory?” is said, interrupting in the string of whines and grunts Lestrade makes.

“…Help yourself.” and no sooner do those words leave his mouth when the Alpha is on his knees before him, hands on his hips as he positions the DI. For a minute, Greg wonders what he is doing before he feels a tongue in a rather sensitive place on him, one he has been neglecting to make sure he lasts.  
Well, he certainly won’t last long if the Alpha keeps licking his hole like it’s a tasty treat.

Letting out a moan, Gregory grabs onto the fine leather that make up the seats, knowing that while he gave permission to touch, Mycroft didn’t. The fact that Mycroft even wants to touch already says a lot, and the Slayer does not want to screw this up.

But when the Watcher pushes his tongue inside, Greg lets a moan go lose as he feels it swipe up some of the little lubricant he produces during masturbation.

Oh, that feels way to good, he definitely won’t last much longer.

And of course as soon as he thinks that, Mycroft pulls away. But he didn’t even have a chance to whine or beg before the man was on his cock, sucking the head like a sweet hard candy.

Yeah, he is man enough to admit he blacked out. Or would it be white out? Because he was sure he saw white, not black.

But once his thoughts decide to go back to being proper, Lestrade couldn’t stop the blush, even with all the effort to try and make it go down.

He just had sex in the back seat of a limo with the bloody British Government.

The absurdity of it all made him chuckle.

“Well, now that we have that out of the way, I’m sure you would like to talk?” Mycroft asked, still looking rather rumpled, but trying to compose himself even while his gaze stayed on the Inspector. He wondered briefly want those eyes saw when they looked at him.

“Yeah, but it can wait till I’m done with my after-glow.” Greg said with a smile, glad that Mycroft cleaned him up and put him away while he was out of it. He was especially glad that the man decided to stay where he was.

“Till then.” The Watcher Alpha said. He then looked a little hesitant, but seemed to steel himself and grabbed the Omega Slayer’s hand, gently holding it and placing a chaste kiss on it.

And that right there, that was what made Greg feel things were going to be good.


End file.
